


Your Heart (in My Hands)

by kuragay



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Peter is pretty heckin smart, Torture, adult characters being generally creepy and gross
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-23 23:52:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16628885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuragay/pseuds/kuragay
Summary: There are things Tony was prepared for, but never expected to actually happen. Peter being kidnapped was one of them.And yet, Pete's gone, and Tony's about to lose his mind.





	Your Heart (in My Hands)

**Author's Note:**

> I know the tags are scary, but I promise this fic isn't actually all that angsty. It's a product of me craving something so badly that I wrote it. 
> 
> Important: Tony cares a lot.  
> Also important: Pete's pretty fucking smart.

They find Peter outside of his apartment, leaning against the rust coloured walls while waiting for someone.

They swipe him from under May’s nose.

The sun drips through half rolled-up blinds and speckles the living room in light during a rare and far between sunny break in late October. May’s sorting through her closet when she hears the yelling outside her open window, followed by screeching tires and one loud honk.

It’s New York: calamity has become background noise at this point. But something stirs in her gut, hot and heavy, and it forces her to set down her clothes and head out of the apartment to the streets below.

Her eyes trace the cars passing along, everything deceptively normal. Or it would’ve been, but May’s eyes catch a spot of red on the pavement, fresh and glinting beneath the daylight. Her stomach curdles. She crouches down next to it, and she hopes it's spilt beet juice, but it sure as hell looks like blood.

“Peter?” She calls.

A pigeon lands next to her feet and walks through the blood, his tiny claws trekking it through the grooves of the sidewalk.

“Peter?” May says again, her throat dry. Ahead, Ned and MJ wave at her as they walk into view, each holding a pop can with a third, unopened one dangling from MJ’s loose grip.

The pigeon looks up at May and trills, demanding food, while several blocks away, a seemingly innocuous black pick-up clunks down an unpaved bicycle trail before swerving left and out of Queens.

-

Tony gets a call at 10:17am from an unknown number. For normal people, that wouldn’t be so strange, but only certain people have access to Tony’s personal line. But hey, he’s in his lab with nothing much to do, so he picks up the phone anyway.

Immediately, he’s caught off guard by the lack of words. There’s clearly a scuffle going on, but it’s so disorienting that Tony doesn’t even bother to listen.

he’s ready to hang up when he hears a loud _clang_ that certainly didn’t come from his lab, followed by a muffled scream.

It’s enough to give him pause. “Helloooo?,” he tries.

Still, no one answers. Straining, Tony thinks he can pick up some more background noise, so he shuts his mouth and listens. Sure, he’s confused, but a trickle of fear begins to tilt up his spine, and his intuition screams that something is seriously wrong.

 _“Hey—_ _asshole—_ _ugh—_ _fuckin—_ _”_ words come through the receiver in spurts until there’s a louder scream followed by more silence. A breath then enters the receiver, loud and uneven. The roughness grates on Tony’s ears, but he doesn’t pull the phone away because he thinks he recognized the earlier voice, and he’s praying that he’s wrong.

The breathing gets louder, closer. The person is clearly exerted, but his next words are crisp. Agitated. “We have someone important to You.”

“Who—” Tony begins, but is cut off by the dial tone. Two seconds later, his phone rings again, and he doesn’t even think before picking it up.

“I don’t care who the fuck you think you are. You better explain who you have or—” For the second time in under ten seconds, Tony’s cut off.

“Peter’s gone.” That’s not the same voice as earlier. For one, it’s distinctly female, and for another, it’s May Parker. She sounds strangled, almost like she’s barely breathing, and Tony thinks he understands a little because he suddenly can’t get any air into his lungs.

“Gone?” he croaks, and he knows it's too much to be a coincidence.

“He was supposed to hang out with us today, but he's gone. And there's blood. And ohmygod Mr. Stark.” Ned has taken over the phone, barely coherent in his panic. Tony would placate him, but he's close to losing it himself.  

“Hey, Ned. It's okay, kid. I'll look for Pete. He's probably fine.” It sounds like he's talking through tar. He can barely hear himself, and he has to grip the table as his vision blurs.

“I'll look for him,” he repeats, then hangs up the phone. Slowly, he slides onto the floor and presses his face against his knees, wondering how this even happened. He had so many safety precautions placed on the kid for all possible contingencies, kidnappings included. There’s a panic button on Peter’s watch, and his web shooters have been designed to look like bracelets to be worn permanently. Peter literally has a weird sixth sense that tells him whenever he’s in danger, so _how on earth did this happen_?

Tony can no longer breathe, every inhale grating inside him like his lungs have torn, but he forces himself to keep inhaling. Exhaling. In. Out. Slowly. He’ll be no help if he loses it right now. When his heart is finally beating at an acceptable rate, he raises his head and gets back onto his feet.

“Friday?” he says, swallowing.

“Yes, boss?”

“Call the first number back.”

He waits, ten seconds, twenty seconds, thirty seconds.

“I'm sorry, boss. The number no longer exists.”

Fuck. He pushes his hand up his face and through his hair, gritting his teeth. “Pull up the surveillance footage from this morning. May’s apartment.”

“Boss, the cameras have been disabled.”

God, this is his worst nightmare coming to life. He tries calling Peter’s phone, but it redirects to a voicemail right away, and the tracker in it isn’t working either. He should’ve put a tracker on Peter’s watch. Hell, he should’ve put one in his arm. Fuck, he’s not thinking logically anymore. He needs to step back, calm down.

He hits his work table and shuts his eyes. “Ring up May Parker.”

She picks up before the first ring is down. “Tony? Did you find anything?”

He wants so badly to give her good news, but he has none. “You should probably come over, and bring the Peter’s friends with you too.”

There’s a pause. “What?”

“I’ll send Happy to pick you guys up. Be ready in an hour.”

It’s a testament to how much May trusts him now when she doesn’t ask anymore questions. “Okay,” she says, quickly followed by, “We’ll find him, Tony. We will.”

“I know.” And he does. But he doesn’t know what they’re doing to Peter right now. They’re probably hurting him, and people don’t just walk away from trauma like that. Tony knows. He’s lived it. He never wanted Peter to live it too.

-

They take away his shoes. Peter doesn’t know why, but it’s the part that strikes him as the oddest. They let him keep his clothes, but they shuck his shoes into the garbage can. They take his phone, his watch, and his web shooters, and they bind his wrists and ankles together.

When Peter gives an experimental tug, he’s surprised that the ropes don’t give. He looks at his kidnappers, eyes narrowed. “Vibranium? Really? Don’t you think that’s a bit much.”

The kidnapper closest to him smiles, and Peter’s thrown off with how kind he looks. “Very good Peter, but how did you know it was vibranium?”

Peter thinks he’ll call this guy Fred. He looks like a Fred. “Acting dumb isn’t cute. You know my name, and you bound me in vibranium, knowing full well that I can’t break out of it.” He glares. “What else do you know?”

Fred’s smile widens, and he crouches down next to Peter. “Peter Parker, age 18. Accepted into MIT with an academic scholarship. Very impressive.” He pauses, as if giving Peter time to respond. When Peter doesn’t speak, Fred continues. “Lives with his aunt, close with Tony Stark and other avengers. Goes to Midtown and is friends with Ned Leeds and Michelle Jones.” He then levels Peter with a look, and his smile transforms into a grin, pleasantness melting away to teeth and sharp angles. “Spends his nights going out as Spider-Man.”

He’s not surprised. Rather, he’s terrified, but it’s easy to pretend not the be scared. Peter’s been doing it since he was 14. He knows Tony will look after his Aunt and his friends because they planned for this. After Thanos, they planned for pretty much everything. “Yeah, that’s called stalking.”

Fred laughs before standing up. “Your sense of humour won’t survive here, Peter. Although, I admit that it’s refreshing.”

Peter rolls his eyes. “Dude, people have been trying to beat my humour out of me since I was like five. There was this guy at my high school. Hell, you probably already know his name. But he’s a real asshole. Does the whole pushing-kids-into-lockers thing. I think he stuck my face in a toilet once when we were in eighth grade…” He trails off, and shrugs the best he can. “Now that I think about it, that doesn’t make me sound very cool. Forget I said anything, capiche?”

A boot catches Peter in the ribs, and he wheezes. “Jeez, that wasn’t nice at all. You look a lot nicer than you really are.”

“Very funny, Peter.”

Peter almost wishes Fred looked annoyed, but his face is arranged almost serenely. His grin is gone, and he has the perfect neutral expression. It’s so unmemorable that Peter forgets his face every time he turns away. What a boring guy.

“I’m done with him.” Fred waves to the people around him. “Take him to his room.”

Two kidnappers grab him and lift his up like a he’s a plank of wood. “Lighter than expected,” one remarks, and the other nods. Fred looks intrigued, but doesn’t stop them as they carry Peter away.

“This is almost like a five-star hotel, although I only stay in those when I’m with Mr. Stark.” Both kidnappers ignore him, but that’s never deterred Peter. “I mean, you’re carrying me to my room! Is it nice? Does it have a jacuzzi?”

“Shut up,” goonie two says, squeezing Peter’s thigh tightly. Forgetting himself, Peter squirms, his face scrunching up. This seems to give goonie two some sort of satisfaction because he squeezes harder, this time a little higher.

“What’s that on your belt?” Peter asks, trying to distract him, and goonie two seems unusually pleased by the question.

“This?” He uses the hand he was fondling Peter with to lightly tap at a key. “It’s your freedom. Doesn’t it frustrate you that it’s so close, yet you can’t reach it?” Then his hands are back on Peter’s thigh, too high, too grabby.

Really, Peter doesn’t mean to, but he jerks up and clips goonie two’s chin.

“Ah fuck!” Goonie two drops Peter’s legs, leaving goonie one to curse and scoop Peter up.

Teeth gritted, Peter spits right on goonie two’s nose. “Touch me again and I’ll kick your head hard enough to dislocate your spine.”

Goonie two actually takes a step back while goonie one sighs and continues walking. He doesn’t spare goonie two another glance. In fact, when Peter looks at his face, he looks pretty irritated. “God dammit, Chris,” he mumbles without even looking back at goonie two, whose name Peter now knows is Chris. “You’re fucking useless.”

“Strong agree.” Peter twitches, nervous now, and tries to erase goonie two’s hand from his mind. He doesn’t need that shit. What he needs is to get the hell out of here. He’s careful, and he notices that Fred made an error: he didn’t blindfold Peter. And Peter has a kickass memory. Already, he’s mapping out the area, and every turn goonie one takes gives Peter a better idea of the structure of the facility. He’s building up the structure in his head like it’s a physics problem, ingraining it into his memory.

Left turn, long hallway, left turn, two steps and a right turn. They walk for a while before goonie one stops in front of a door and scans his finger print. Big facility then, high security probably. But that’s not the worst part. The worst part is that his captors aren’t total idiots. Fred knows everything about Peter, probably wiped the cameras around Peter’s block, and will probably mislead Tony. He heard Fred making the call earlier, presumably to Tony.

 _“We have someone important to you,”_ Fred had said, which seemed like a useless statement at the time, but now that Peter thinks about it, it was a pretty smart thing to say. Now there’s unease brewing, and Peter’s almost positive that Fred’s going to give more hints.

Maybe he’ll lead Tony on a goose chase. That’d be funny. Wait no, not funny. Peter’s the goose in this situation. Yikes.

Goonie one sighs again, sounding almost too miserable for someone in an immeasurably better situation than Peter.

“Your room.” He tosses Peter on the cot. “Settle in, make it home. Whatever.”

Peter looks around. It’s square, and he could probably walk corner to corner in fifteen steps. It’s bigger than his room at home, but infinitely more bare. In the corner, there’s a stall that he can only assume is a toilet.

“Jonathan, this is a cell.”

“How did you know my name?”

Maybe it’s the stress of the situation, or maybe Peter’s just officially lost it, but when he sees the genuine fear on goonie one’s face, he can’t help but laugh. Chris and Jonathan and Peter. Three of the most basic names in the English speaking world, all stuck in one place. Peter can’t wait to get the fuck out of this place.

-

His feet are cold. He doesn’t know the time, but the blanket is too thin and his feet are going to freeze off.

“Why did you take my shoes?” Peter groans to the ceiling, and surprise surprise, no one answers.

He doesn’t sleep. He doesn’t do anything except roll around on the bed. A couple hours in, right when he’s about to lose it, his door opens.

Peter’s in the process of sitting up when goonie two walks in, scowling.

“Nice bruise,” Peter says, maybe a little too smugly. It’s ugly and dark, taking up a good portion of the bottom of goonie two’s face.

Goonie two looks like he wants to strangle Peter, and when he steps closer, Peter thinks he’s going to do exactly that. But his hands reach for Peter’s arms, not his neck.

“We’re gonna have some fun today,” goonie two says.

“Yay,” Peter deadpans, but goonie two doesn’t react. Instead, he yanks Peter to his feet.

“Move.”

“I can’t. I’m tied up...idiot.”

Hands grip his hair, yanking his head back, and goonie two breathes into his ear. “You’re going to break today, and I’m going to enjoy watching.”

Peter shudders, trying to pull his head away, but goonie two only tightens his grip. “Let go,” Peter grinds out, wincing as his feels strands of curls snapping off his scalp.

“You don’t make the demands here.” Goonie two pushes Peter forward until he stumbles, then pushes harder until Peter’s feet slide underneath him and he ends up on his knees. “Know your place, bitch.”

He forces Peter back onto his feet by wrenching his hair, and Peter wishes he could turn around and hit goonie two again. Wishes he could make good of his promise and break his spine.

Instead, he’s marched from the room, afraid.

-

They untie him and then immediately strap him down to a metal chair. Knowing it’s useless, Peter doesn’t even bother to struggle. He’s exhausted, and mentally at his limit, so he shuts his eyes and focuses on breathing.

“Is the camera set up?”

“Yes. Recording now.”

“Great.” Fred rests his hand on Peter’s shoulder, and Peter tries not to flinch. He’s so tired. What he really wants is to cuddle up on the couch next to May and Tony, preferably with a boring movie playing in the background that will put him to sleep. He can almost feel Tony’s hands running through his hair, and he would give anything to have that right now.

“Hello, Tony Stark.” Fred smiles that gentle, misleading smile of his again before moving his hand higher to rest on Peter’s head. “I’m sure by now you’ve figured out we’ve taken Peter, and I’m sure you’re wondering why.”

They’re filming this and sending it to Tony, Peter realizes. He takes back what he said earlier about his captors not being total idiots; this is the dumbest kidnapping he’s ever been a part of.

“Oh my fucking god,” he mutters under his breath, and that earns him a quick tug to his curls. When he was wishing for some hair play earlier, it wasn’t for this.

“Really, our intentions aren’t so malicious.” Fred walks behind the camera and rolls a trolley over to Peter, taking the stained tarp off the top of it to reveal several sharp, intimidating tools. “It’s for science! One of your fondest pass-times.” A scalpel is picked up, shiny and deadly. Fred looks into the camera and, deceptively pleasantly, says, “Although, I’ll admit, it’s also to hurt you.”

Peter can try not to be afraid, but when the scalpel is brought to his arm, he can’t help but pull away. The restraints instantly become taut, digging into Peter’s skin, so he grits his teeth and forces himself to quit struggling.

“His cells are remarkable.” Fred sinks the scalpel in. “They work almost fifteen times as fast as a regular human’s. Watching the videos of him galavanting as Spider-Man, I observed that even his largest wounds stop bleeding within minutes.” The scalpel digs deeper, and Peter thinks he’s bitten through his lip. “It astounded us. So we thought, why not research and make Tony Stark watch us hurt his little mentee? Two birds with one stone. Even an idiot could come up with it, and yet it seems to be working so well.”

Fred finally takes the scalpel away once he’s cut from Peter’s wrist to his elbow. The wound isn’t terribly deep, but it stings enough that Peter wants to just rest and get away from here. No one ever seems to care what Peter wants though, so Fred continues observing him patiently as the bleeding stops.

“How long did it take for hemostasis to occur?”

“42 seconds.” That’s goonie two’s smug-ass voice. Peter doesn’t even give him the satisfaction of looking over. Instead, he trains his gaze on Fred, watching as Fred scribbles something down onto a notepad, staining the edges of the paper with Peter’s blood.

“Truly incredible.” When Fred realizes that Peter’s looking at him, he returns the gaze and rests a almost gentle hand on Peter’s cheek. “You are a wonderful boy, Peter.”

Frustratingly, Peter’s tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth, and his words are slowly drained away. He has nothing to say, but Fred’s hand is almost painful on Peter’s skin, his senses saturated to the point where even keeping his eyes open causes a headache.

“I feel hungover, and I didn’t even get to get drunk. Talk about the worst party ever.” It sounds flat, the lack of energy palpable. Totally not worth the effort it took to get the words out.

He hates that Tony’s watching as he slowly chips away, and he’s honestly just done with this entire day. You would think that after fighting a giant purple raisin, a boy could get a break, but nope, kidnappings are still a thing.

“You have a terrible motive,” Peter says, then feels the scalpel touch his clavicle. The knife slices downwards, and Peter bites his tongue.

-

Tony’s tried to trace the video in so many ways that he’s lost count. It came in two hours ago and connected itself it his tv while he and Pepper were eating lunch half-heartedly. Pepper saw it first and screamed, but when Tony turned around to look, his mouth instantly dried.

Because they had his _kid._ They tied him up like a piece of meat and cut him open.

He didn’t even let May and Pete’s friends look at the video. They wouldn’t have handled it. Hell, Tony can barely handle it. All he can picture is Peter dying for the second time, only this time alone in a gross lab with a crazy person.

“Do you know who that was?” Pepper had asked, referring to the guy getting all touchy-feely with Peter, but Tony didn’t have a name.

The doctor had such an ordinary face that even if Tony did know him at one point, he’s long since forgotten.

Which leads to where he is now, hunched over his million dollar tech with no way to trace the video back to his kid.

“Fuck!” He kicks his work table then immediately regrets it, feeling the impact all the way up his shins. If Peter dies, he’ll never forgive himself. If Peter lives but never recovers, Tony will never forgive himself. No matter what happens, he realizes that he’ll have a hard time forgiving himself.

“Call Stephen,” Tony mutters. “Fuck, Friday. Call Stephen Strange right now.”

Eight rings later, someone picks up. “Tony?”

-

They leave Peter in his room for another couple of hours, and by now, Peter knows where the two cameras are situated.

There’s one at the entrance, probably with the ability to capture most of the room, and one under the bed. There’s none in the washroom stall at least.

Peter hobbles over, feeling stupid with his legs tied together, and wonders how he’s going to piss without access to his hands.

“Uh, hello?” He calls up. “I kind of have to pee, but like, my hands are tied.”

One minute passes before goonie one—Jonathan—walks into his cell and frees his hands. “If you hurt me or try to escape, Vlad will break both of your wrists.”

Peter almost trips. “Vlad?!”

Jonathan frowns. “Yes. Our boss.”

“Oh god, his real name is worse than Fred.”

Jonathan apparently doesn’t care what that means and sends Peter to the washroom, which gives him time to briefly think. When he gets out, his hands are immediately tied back together, despite his protests at having not washed them.

So the only time he has even the slightest hint of freedom is when he’s in the washroom.

When Jonathan leaves, Peter uses that time to look around instead of mope, but quickly grows tired of the consistent grey. Ceiling, walls, floor–all a drab shade of dried mud.

He flops onto the bed and stares upwards until his eyes hurt. Until he's tearing up. There are no tiles to count to help him fall asleep, so Peter counts bruises.

-

On the second day, Peter starts singing. It’s just something to pass the time. He goes from Carly Rae Jepsen to Hannah Montana to Drake and back to Carly Rae Jepsen. He belts out lyrics in hopes that it’ll annoy the people watching him, and sings loud enough to drown out any unpleasant thoughts.

They come back for him when he’s in the middle of The Climb, which is annoying because he hasn’t even reached the best part of the song yet.

“Can you come back in like, twenty seconds?”

Chris, the goonier of the goonies, doesn’t come back in twenty seconds and instead drags Peter out before dumping him onto Vlad’s chair.

Vlad tests burns this time, holding the flame just close enough to lick Peter’s skin. When the hair on his arms starts to roast, he almost gags at the scent, and then he really gags when the pain hits.

“I bet a cannibal would be really hungry after smelling this,” Peter croaks, and gets a good laugh out of Vlad before he’s being burned again.

At some point, Vlad must’ve grown tired of the standard fire and has started putting out cigarettes on Peter’s arms.

When they’re done for the day and he’s being dragged back to his room, Peter heard Chris say to Vlad, “I wish he would scream more.”

Vlad doesn’t respond for a while, but right when Peter’s about to be out of range, he hears Vlad reply, “He will.”

-

“I don’t know how this is possible, but he seems to have disappeared from America.” Stephen looks just as baffled as Tony feels.

“You can’t find him?” May asks, her face twisting in a way that Tony never wants to see again. The grief written all over her is only paralleled by the time Tony had to tell her that her nephew died on a strange planet, scared and in pain. Now Peter might die scared, in pain, and alone.

“Strange, c’mon. Can’t you do some hocus pocus and bring him back?”

 _“_ Hocus Pocus?! Tony, you seem to be under some sort of delusion that i’m an all-powerful being. We know that’s not true. I’m the sorcerer supreme, not Professor Dumbledore.”

Tony rolls his eyes, but only to mask the overwhelming panic. “I’ve tried everything.” His throat is too dry, and he can barely get the words out. “I’ve tried everything, and I can’t find it. I’m this close to tearing New York down brick by brick.”

Stephen looks at Tony with something akin to Pity, but Tony knows he’s also concerned. Disregarding supervillains, people usually grow a soft spot for Peter approximately twenty seconds after meeting him, and Stephen strange is no exception. Stephen may act like he doesn’t care, but Tony knows for a fact that if he really were to take New York apart, Stephen would be right next to him.

“What if he’s not in New York?” May asks, horror dawning on her face. “What if he’s not even in america?”

And that’s the real kicker, the possibility that Tony’s definitely thought of, but didn’t even want to consider. That now he’ll be forced to consider.

“They couldn’t have left on a plane,” Tony reasons. “At least not from an airport. Too many cameras. I would’ve found him already.”

“Private Jet?” Ned pipes up, so suddenly that Tony startles. God, he forgot that Ned and Michelle were even there.

“No. Too obvious. We would’ve noticed.” Michelle sits on the floor of the lab with her back hunched, clearly upset, but her voice is steady. And she’s right. Tony has eyes on the entire city, and he would’ve been alerted if Peter was spotted boarding one.

“Judging from the location Peter was taken from, I think we can safely assume it was a road vehicle.”

Tony agrees with Stephen. It was probably a car, one that could blend in with regular traffic well enough to not cause attention. But the street cameras in all of Queens are wiped, and their villain seems to be smarter than the regular cookies. There’s a type of fear slowly surrounding Tony that he hasn’t felt in nearly a year, but he refuses to lose to it.

“Let’s take a break,” Pepper suggests, quiet, and Tony turns to her in betrayal.

“Pep, that’s our kid.”

“No, Pepper’s right.” It’s May this time, setting a careful hand on Tony’s shoulder. Her eyes are red, but they’re dry. “We’re gonna kill ourselves at this rate. Let’s get some food and some sleep and continue in the morning.”

“May…”

“Tony.” It’s Pepper’s no-nonsense voice. She gets up and kisses his cheek before pulling him along. “You can’t stay up all night looking for him. I’m scared too, but your brain just can’t work without food and sleep.” Her voice wobbles, but Tony still hesitates. “Please.”

He glances up at Stephen, resigned. “Will you stay?”

“Until we find him,” Stephen promises, and Tony relaxes marginally. He’s already sent the message out to the rest of the Avengers, and they’re all looking, and he knows they’ll find Pete. One of them will. They have to, or no one can. Tony’s not sure if that supposed to be reassuring or not, but he feels better regardless.

 _Please be okay._ He’s never been a man to pray. He’s never believed in a higher power looking out for them. But he’s praying now. _For Pete’s sake, please be okay._

-

Peter loses hours. He doesn’t know what’s happening anymore. All he knows is that he’s in pain, and he’s losing time.

They electrocute him until he can’t feel his body anymore, and until his bones are creaking.

“Up the voltage.”

Peter cracks. He screams, then bites his tongue hard enough for blood to instantly flood his mouth.

"Finally, a proper scream.”

“Shuddup, Chris.” He spits blood, then loses function of his vocal cords. The current traverses his body so violently that he can no longer think. He jerks, his arm spasming out, and he feels his shoulder pop.

“Dislocated shoulder after three minutes and twenty-six seconds of level seven. Try for level eight.”

He can’t breathe. His lungs are squeezing painfully tight and he can’t breathe.

“Level nine.”

Peter loses time. He loses himself.

-

 _Hydrogenheliumlithiumberylium._ Everything is soluble with ammonium. The definition of the derivative is the slope. The net force equals mass times acceleration.

Things are tumbling out of the Peter’s head, and when he finally collects his thoughts, he’s back in his cell.

He starts to hum, first quietly, then louder. Eventually, he’s loud enough to drown out the buzzing in his head, and his throat starts to ache.

“I need to pee,” he yells, and Jonathan comes in to untie his hands and help him hop to the stall.

His shoulder has been set, but it still aches despite the lack of swelling, which A) means he’s healing much slower than he’s supposed to, or B) he’s only been out for a couple of minutes. The first option seems more likely. Probably because he’s starving.

Jonathan’s waiting outside the stall, his feet tapping the concrete floors impatiently. Peter can only see Jonathan’s feet from under the crack of the washroom door, but he notices that Jon has Yeezys on, which definitely should be against the dress code.

“I’m shitting,” Peter calls. “You’ll be waiting for a while.”

And Jon, in a surprisingly nice turn of events, says, “Take your time, kid.”

So Peter does. Mostly because he doesn’t want to face his reality, but also because he likes tapping on the walls. The stall is just standard metal, but the walls are concrete like the floor. Peter’s literally broken through concrete walls before, and wishes he could bust out of this one.

And he totally could bust out of this one, except Jon is watching and waiting, which is great.

Peter pushes against the concrete and pictures hitting it hard enough to crack it. “Hey, Jon. I think I’m out of toilet paper.”

Jon sighs. “Give me thirty seconds.” Then he walks from the room to get Peter toilet paper, even though there’s a full roll ready to be used. Not that Jon knows that.

Peter really likes dumb henchmen. Too bad Vlad’s such a pain in the ass. Peter flushes the toilet and gets up before swinging his fist as the wall. Sure enough, it cracks with just a fraction of Peter’s strength, but the sound is pretty disruptive.

“Is this the real life? Or this just fantasy?” He hits the wall again, and continues singing loud enough to make the sound of cracking concrete less obvious. He hopes the cameras have shitty audio, or he’s fucked. When he hears Jon outside the door, he stops, brushes any bits of concrete away with his feet to the back corner, and waits.

Jon walks in and slides the toilet paper underneath the door. “Sorry it took so long. Chris was being a creep. For some reason, he really wanted to be the one to deliver toilet paper to you.”

Peter shudders. Chris probably just wanted to get a peak at Peter in a more vulnerable state, which is as distressing as it is enlightening.

By now, Peter wonders if he’s going to be rescued. It’s been several days, and Tony wouldn’t wait that long. Not if he could find Peter. So it’s up to himself now, and if Chris is a guy with a hard-on for Peter, Peter could totally use use that to his advantage.

 _Operation: escape the fetish dungeon_ has commenced.

-

_“Time is running out.”_

It’s that same voice from the last call, and Tony’s tracing the phone before he even hangs up. He has horse blinders on, and Pepper’s telling him to not stress, that they’ll find Pete, that he’ll be okay, but Tony’s fingers are moving faster than his brain and he can’t hear her.

For a second, he gets a location, and his heart enters his throat, but before he can pinpoint it, it’s gone.

“Dammit!” His chair scrapes the floor as he stands up, and he tugs uselessly at his hair. “Fuck!”

Clearly startled, Pepper rests a hand on his shoulder, but it does nothing to calm his frayed nerves.

“I had it! For a second I had it. Those bastards are a step in front of me.” Fuck.

“Do we have a general location?” Stephen leans over the monitor, and tony feels another smidgen of hope that he quickly smothers. Better to not feel so optimistic. It’ll only destroy him in the long run.

“Canada-US border. Washington or British Columbia?”

It’s almost funny how Stephen’s mouth drops open. “By car? That’s on the west coast, Tony.”

“Yeah, well my systems don’t glitch, so that’s probably where they are.”

“Well hey! That’s something. That narrows the search, right?” Ned smiles nervously, and Tony claps him on the back. His optimism is something Tony admires, but is probably too old to get. Hell, he feels like he’s barely functioning without Pete.

“Yeah, kid.”

They’ve had Peter for four and a half days now, and who knows what they could’ve done in that time? Tony doesn’t want to tell Ned that the Peter they get back might not be the same Peter they lost.

-

A different number, the same voice. _“Having fun, Stark?”_

Tony hangs up first this time, and immediately sets to tracing the number. He has a location in milliseconds, and just as quickly, it’s wiped again. Yet, Tony was still faster.

He doesn’t even think anyone around him is breathing as they peer over the screen with a tiny red dot pulsing near Washington.

“Holy shit, they’re in Vancouver,” Ned says, awed, looking at the general area where Peter probably is. Tony can’t even respond. His heart is thumping wildly in his chest, and he’s so close.

“Tony,” Pepper suddenly lifts her head with a gasp. “Tony, remember that lawsuit from the company in Vancouver?”

And Tony really tries to remember but, “No…”

Pepper doesn’t even look surprised, but she’s suddenly sprinting out the room. “I’ll be right back!” She calls.

Sure enough, she’s back before Tony can count to thirty, a stack of papers in her hand. “They sued you around eight years ago for something that happened twenty years ago. Just wait,” she flips through the papers, “here is is. Something about plagiarism. Their evidence was clearly fabricated though.”

Peering down the papers that Pepper has laid out, Tony grimaces, “Funny how things that took about a second of your time come back to bite you in the ass.”

Pepper rolls her eyes. “A second of _your_ time maybe. Months of mine.”

“Alright, alright.” Tony gets back to the computer screen, but not before seeing May clench her fists. “Hey,” he turns to her and raises an eyebrow, and for a second, it looks like May’s going to ignore him, but she shakes her head instead.

“I just...I don’t get it.” Her head falls, and Ned latches onto her arm in a flimsy attempt at comfort. “They’re hurting my kid because of a stupid lawsuit that happened nearly a decade ago?”

“That also doesn’t explain why they’re treating Peter like a science experiment,” MJ mutters,picking lint off her sweater, and Tony’s stomach curdles at the reminder.

Pepper’s flipping through papers again, and lets out a frustrated groan. “Friday,” she says. “Can you pull up information on V-W Corporations?”

“Of course, Ms. Potts.”

A new tab opens, and Pepper begins pulling information out. “They’re a tech and science lab specializing in transportation and portals and various other things, including a subdivision in genetics. They’ve recently begun publishing articles online under the blog vancitywaterfrontcorp.org. They have a lot of articles on Spider-Man. Speculations of his identity, the physics behind his swings, and so much more.”

“Portals? I thought that was my specialty...although it would explain how they got to Vancouver so quickly.” Stephen frowns, moving closer to the monitor.

Tony follows his examples and leans in as well before clicking on a random link left on the blog, only for it to be password protected. “Why would they need a password for a link?” He can probably hack in no problem, but he types in a couple guesses anyway. To his surprise, on his third attempt, he actually gets in. “Christ,” he exhales. “The password is ‘Peter Parker’.”

Ned looks like he’s about to cry, and Tony has no idea how to comfort him, so he turns to the video that pops up.

Not even a second in, and Tony wants to throw up. It’s a video of Peter changing out of his spiderman suit in his bedroom. It’s clear that it’s been filmed through a crack in the blinds. They stalked Spider-Man back to his home and filmed him undressing. The time stamp says it was form last year, meaning Peter was still a minor.

“Fuck,” May breathes, looking pale.

Tony leans back, closing his eyes. “So…who wants to take a trip to Vancouver?”

-

His ribs are broken, Peter’s sure. He can tell by the bruising and the pain. There’s also a strong possibility that there’s something wrong with his left ankle because Peter’s pretty sure he heard it crack.

“C’mon, Spider-Man. You can take more than that, right?” Chris swings with an iron glove right into Peter’s arm, and he can’t help but scream.

They haven’t even tied him to the chair this time. They just dropped him on the ground and let him squirm around like a worm before beating him senseless. Vlad, the lazy fuck, is sitting back and watching with his dumb clipboard and Louis Vuitton fountain pen that probably costs more than Peter’s life.

Chris kicks Peter’s bad ankle with his foot and Peter almost bites his tongue off. Yup, definitely fractured. There’s something almost predatory in his eyes, and if Peter’s eyes stray lower, he sees something else that catches his attention. That’s definitely not a phone in Chris’s pocket.

Time to put the plan into action.

“Chris, please,” Peter breathes, forcing himself to look blearily up at Chris, parting his mouth to lick his lips deliberately slowly. “Please stop.”

Sure enough, Peter gets a reaction. Chris shudders before straightening, his stance reminding Peter of one of those flashy male birds right before they perform a mating ritual. On a bird, cute. On Chris, not cute. He gives Peter another kick before flashing a grin. “Keep begging, and maybe I’ll consider it.”

Peter almost gags. “Please. _Please._ I promise to do whatever you want if you stop. Please please please, Chris.” So maybe he’s laying it on extra thick, but to his amazement, Chris actually stops. In fact, he seems a bit unnerved.

He turns to Vlad, pupils dilated. “Boss, I think he’s about to pass out.”

Concerned, Vlad comes over to check, and Peter acts like he can’t take anymore. It’s not that hard, considering how much pain he’s in. “Hmm.” Vlad crouches down and lifts Peter’s shirt up before poking at his ribs hard enough to elicit a hiss. “Poor boy.” Vlad stands up and brushes himself off, then, to Chris, says, “Take him to his room. And bring him his meal early.”

Chris doesn’t have to be told twice and drags Peter to his feet, rough enough that Peter’s left ankle completely collapses underneath him.

“Pick the boy up!” Vlad nearly cries, which is a bizarre reaction, but Chris complies.

They leave the room in a hurry, and Peter schools his face into something more innocent. “Chris,” he leans up to whispers into Chris’s ear. “What if you stay in my room for a bit. You can have me however you like.” If Peter’s plan works and he gets out of the hell hole, he’s going to scrub out his mouth until his tongue bleeds.

It has the desired effect though, and Chris nods rapidly like the dumb lug he is. When they get to Peter’s cell, Chris almost trips over himself to unlock the door and pretty much dumps Peter onto the bed.

“Stay,” he commands, like Peter can even go anywhere, and walks outside for a second to shout at some people. “Watch this door until I come out,” he yells down the hall to probably some more kidnappers before coming back into Peter’s cell. He slams the door shut with a flourish on the makeshift guards’ (there are two of them) puzzled faces.

“The cameras,” Peter breathes in his best school boy voice.

Chris actually seems to consider this, and nods. He picks up a square, sleek device and brings it to his mouth. “Turn the cameras off in room 121 for twenty minutes please.”

_“Chris, what the fuck. Why do you need the cameras off?”_

“Just turn it off, Jonathan!”

There’s a muffled sigh, then, _“Alright, you have twenty minutes.”_ Then, quieter, in a voice that Peter can only hear thanks to his sensitivity, _“Creep.”_

Victorious, Chris prowls over to Peter, looking at Peter like he’s a slab of meat. “You’ll be a good boy for me, right?”

Peter nods and peers up at Chris through his eyelashes. “I’ll be so good.”

Chris actually groans at that and pretty much pounces on Peter, giving Peter perfect visual of a shiny key hanging from Chris’s belt. Without hesitating, Peter headbutts Chris hard in the nose, and Chris falls backwards with a curse.

“What the—!” He’s cut off as Peter lurches forward and headbutts him again, leaving him disoriented enough for Peter to rip the key off Chris’s belt with his teeth. Chris grabs at him, blood pouring down his face, and Peter bucks off the bed and starts wiggling away. He sweeps his legs to trip Chris, and Chris, the idiot, actually falls.

“Fucking—!” Darting forward, Chris makes another grab for Peter, but Peter trips him again.

Flexibility being tested, Peter curls his back and bends his legs until his mouth is at his ankles, and he inserts the key into the lock and twists, metal and blood wet inside his mouth.

The door opens and the guards from outside Peter’s door rush in, but it’s too late. Peter’s legs are already free.

“Grab him!” Chris roars, his teeth stained red, but Peter’s too fast. He jumps and wraps his legs around Chris’s neck, twisting to flip Chris over, where he lands with a thump.

Guard one and two both get their guns but Peter kicks one away—ow, fuck, that’s the bad ankle—and distracts the guy holding the other by running up to the ceiling and dropping down on him from above.

“You’ve been stopped!” Peter says as he kicks the poor guy in the face before running back to where the key dropped. Hurt and exhausted, his speed is lacking, but he makes do. He leans backwards to grab the key, and positions himself awkwardly to unlock his hands from behind. It’s at this point that Peter realizes wrists aren’t that flexible, but he gets it done anyway, and his hands are finally free. Where the chains were wrapped, bloody wounds remain, but they’ll heal.

Without wasting time, he heads to the washroom stall, already hearing commotion nearing his door.

“Stop!” It’s Vlad, followed by Jonathan, and he has a weird gun aimed at peter. It takes approximately two seconds for Peter to figure out what’s so weird about the gun: there’s netting hanging out of it. It’s probably similar to Peter’s web grenade. Shit!

Peter stumbles backwards, and it’s at that point that his ankles decides to become a dead fish, and he falls flat on his butt.

He won’t cry. He won’t! But god, it’s so frustrating. He was so close. “Please,” he groans, with none of the flirtatious intent he used with Chris. “Why are you doing this? I’m a kid. I’m just a normal fucking kid. Let me go home.”

Vlad breathes, his eyes almost sympathetic. “Sorry, but I can’t do th—!”

The gun flies out of his hand, Jonathan’s leg lowering from a kick, and Peter’s eyes widen.

“Go home, kid!” Jonathan yells, and punches Vlad square in the face. More guards are racing in, trying to keep Jonathan from beating Vlad into ground meat, and Peter takes advantage of the distraction.

Scrambling up while using the washroom stall as support, he finds his crack in the cement wall and rears his good leg back. “C’mon c’mon c’mon,” he mutters, and kicks with all his strength. He’s lifted pillars and cars and trucks and buses. He can kick down a basic cement wall.

It cracks, and Peter kicks harder. His leg is on fire, but he kicks until the cracks have spiderwebbed, and until he’s blinking spots from his eyes. There’s fighting going on behind him, but Peter’s only focused on his task.

“C’mon. Tony, May, Ned, MJ, Pepper.” Peter kicks. It’s been thirty seconds already. Someone’s going to notice what he’s doing any second now. “Tony, May, Ned, MJ, Pepper. Ben.” Peter’s foot breaks through the wall.

-

There are so many hallways, but Peter’s memorized enough of the path to rush through.

The first thing he notices are the bodies of unfamiliar people lying around. They must be apart of Peter’s kidnapping, but Peter has no idea how they died.

He’s stumbling more than walking at this point, both his hands pressed firmly to the wall as he makes his way forward.

In the distance, he hears something that makes him stop, his stomach unrolling. It feels like he’s being zapped with electricity again.

 _“Peter!”_ Someone is calling his name. _“Peter! Kid!” Where are you?”_

It’s coming from far in front of him, Peter’s sure, and he picks up the pace. “I’m here!” he screams down the corridor, his voice echoing around the building, breaking from the days of stress. “I’m here!”

_“Pete?!”_

It’s Tony. It’s TonyTonyTony. Iron Man rounds the corner, but the suit is disappearing the moment he catches sight of Peter, revealing Tony Stark’s face. His haggard, fatigued, beautiful face.

“Peter!” His armour fully gone, Tony collapses forward and gathers Peter in his arms. Peter’s more koala than human now, his bravado slipping away as he clings to Tony. Here, squished against Tony’s chest, he lets the fear of the past few days swallow him because he knows it’s safe to do so now. He can be scared and admit that what happened was nothing short of horrific.

Peter presses himself even closer, desperate to feel some human warmth, and for the first time in what feels like forever, his muscles untense. “I want a chocolate shake after this,” he says, snotting up Tony’s shirt like a dumb kid. “And I demand cuddles and lots of TLC.”

Tony laughs, but it sounds like he’s crying. “Kid, I’ll give you TLC until you’re ninety-two and begging me to stop.”

“Bold of you to assume you’ll be alive when I’m ninety-two.” Then Peter begins to sob, his face buried into Tony’s shoulder, and it’s only when he feels strong hands rubbing his back does he realize that he’s been starved for affection.

“Let’s get you home, Pete.”

-

Tony cradles Peter to his chest as he rushes out of the facility, his heart squeezing every time Peter winces.

Peter’s in what was probably once a nice pair of jeans which have since been ruined by blood and rips and various other stains. His shirt is even worse off because it probably used to be white, but is now definitely every colour except for white. He has bruises and slashes violently displayed all over his body, welts on his wrist and ankles, and probably several broken ribs judging from his rattling breaths. His left ankle is also horrifically swollen, and Tony thinks he can spot second degree burns under Pete's clothes. But Peter, sweet and wonderful Peter, doesn't even seem to notice. Instead, he's peering up at Tony with a goofy smile, dried tears staining his broken skin.

“I didn't think you would come,” Peter admits, his voice wobbling.

It hurts Tony in a way he forgot he could hurt, the tight pain expanding across his chest. “I know, I know. I'm so sorry it took so long, Pete. But you did so good. You got yourself out.” he wishes he had a free hand to stroke his kid's hair, to rub gentle fingers into his scalp.

“They took my shoes,” Peter says. “My feet are cold.”

“There are blankets with Stephen.”

“Dr. Strange?”

“Yeah, kid. He’s gonna portal us home.”

“Cool. Can I become a blanket burrito?”

Tony blinks rapidly, glad he has the ironman helmet back over his head. “Of course, kid. Whatever you want.”

-

Rhodey gasps the moment he sees them, a wooly blanket bundled in his arms, and quickly ushers them towards where Stephen has opened a portal. 

“Shit, Tones.” He gathers Peter gently from Tony as Tony sheds his bleeding edge armour.

“Hey, Rhodey,” Peter murmurs, and Rhodey smiles, wiping some grime off of Peter's face.

“Hey, Pete.”

“They took my shoes.”

Rhodey looks down at Peter’s bruised, bare feet, then up to his massive ankle, and winces. “Yeah, kid. I’m guessing you’re pretty cold.”

Peter nods, and Rhodey quickly wraps the blanket around him until he's adequately swaddled.

“Better?”

“Mmhm.” Peter wriggles. “I would really like to go home now. I stink and I’m tired.”

“And hurt,” Tony adds, taking Peter back from Rhodey.

“That too.”

“Alright,” Rhodey looks at them, clearly worried, and heads to the front. “We’ll be home in seconds.”

Halfway down the alleyway to where Stephen is trying to look inconspicuous, Peter suddenly jolts and looks at Tony, eyes wide. “Holy shit,” he says, and Tony’s immediately checking around for anything out of the ordinary, but Peter shakes his head. “Someone needs to call May.”

-

May meets them at the compound, frantic with worry, and bursts into tears the moment she sees Peter, fragile in Tony’s arms.

“May, I’m _fine._ I’m okay.”

“How can you say that?” she sobs, pressing her hand to Pete’s face, tracing some of the ugliest bruises. “Look at you.” She follows them up to the med bay, her hand grasping Peter’s blanket so tightly that Tony’s scared she’ll pop a vein. Never has he seen May so uncomposed.

“Oh my god,” Ned says the moment he sees them, and rushes over before halting in his steps, paling. He swallows heavily before turning away. Even Michelle looks shaken as she slowly makes her way towards them.

“I’m okay,” Peter says again, but no one believes him.

It only gets worse when Helen Cho comes in and takes the blanket away.

“Don’t throw up, man,” Peter says as Ned approaches with green-tinted skin.

“I’m not going to.”

“Don’t look if it bothers you.”

At that, Ned’s mouth parts, incredulous. “Bothers _me?_ Dude, you’re the one who looks half dead.” Then, as if instantly regretting his words, he flinches back. “Uh, I mean—”

“It’s fine,” Peter cuts in. “I know I look like a shit. But is it because I was tortured? Or is it because of midterms?”

Ned blanches. “Don’t joke about your torture!”

It’s impossible that it’s a coincidence when Peter’s eyes stray to Tony’s, and Tony grimaces. Alright, so he hasn’t been setting a good example for healthy coping mechanisms, but they’re the mechanisms that work for him, and they seem to be working for Peter. Eventually, they’ll have to talk about what happened, but if joking about it makes Peter feel less like falling apart, how can Tony begrudge the kid.

“Out,” Helen commands, interrupting they’re little banter. “I need to take an x-ray.” She looks at Stephen. “He can stay if he wants to.”

But Tony doesn’t want to leave. He sees Peter, so small and battered, and can’t bring his feet to move.

“I don’t mind getting exposed to some radiation,” he says, but Helen shakes her head and points at the door.

“Get out.”

“Tony, the hardest parts are over,” May says, and tugs him towards the door. “He’s here, and he’s safe, and right now he needs an x-ray.”

“Actually, can you guys just not be here for the entire examination?” Peter says, and Tony looks at him and isn’t sure what he sees, but it’s enough to make him nod.

“Sure, kid. See you in a few.”

“Peter, are you sure?” May wipes a curl off his forehead, and Peter smiles with tight lips.

“Yeah.”

-

Bruce drags Tony, May, Rhodey, and the kids out for coffee, and when Tony gets back, Peter’s leg is already in a cast, his torso is wrapped, and he looks significantly cleaner.

“I took a shower!” he says, seeming ridiculously happy about a simple thing. “I sat down to do it and it hurt like a bitch.”

“Hey, I didn’t raise you to speak like that,” May ruffles his hair, still clearly shaken, but she’s dealing pretty well. Not that they have a proper comparison since they’ve never really been in this situation before.

“Riiight.” The word draws out nice and long as Peter gives her a pointed look, to which she rolls her eyes. “You and Tony say ‘fuck’ at least twenty times a day. It’s not my fault osmosis is real.”

“Okay, first of all smarty pants, you and I both know that osmosis doesn’t work like that. Second of all, twenty times? I swear one time in front of you, and suddenly I’m the bad guy. Un-fucking-believable.”

“Mr. Stark, I think this entire experience aged you. I’m pretty sure you didn’t have that many gray hairs before. Lemme pluck some out—”

“Hey you lil’ shit, why don’t you look me in the eyes and say that one more time—”

-

“I did something pretty bad to get out of that shit hole,” Peter admits while sipping on his chocolate shake, and Tony groans as he sits up from where he passed out on the couch earlier. Watching a movie was a terrible idea.

“You did what you had to do,” May reassures, but Peter shakes his head.

“I—” he hesitates, uncertain, and Tony tries to comfort him by rubbing circles into his shoulder, but it doesn’t seem to be helping.

“Take your time.”

Peter pushes his shake away and curls up, chewing on his bottom lip. “There was this creep, Chris, who was one of my guards,” he starts, taking a deep breath, “and he...uh...had an _interest_ in me…”

Immediately, Tony’s heart drops, and May has Peter wrapped in her arms. She looks ill, which is probably a mirror image of Tony’s expression.  “Did he touch you?” she asks, and Tony’s stomach lurches when she says it.

“Uh…” Upon seeing their expressions, Peter rapidly shakes his head. “Not like that! Not like that...but, I, uh, almost let him. Because he wanted to be alone with me. So when he was alone with me, I stole his key to my cuffs and kind of...beat him up.”

“But did he touch you?” May asks again, quieter, and Peter worries his lips.

“Kind of? It wasn’t bad! But...yeah...kind of.”

There’s a lemon slice in Tony’s throat, clenching up his windpipe. “Kid,” he tries, but Peter only shakes his head, pulling away from May to look Tony in the eyes.

“It was fucked up, everything that happened there, but like, I’ll be okay.”

“Maybe we should get you professional help,” May says, almost tentatively, but to her surprise, Peter nods right away.

“Yeah, I’ll try it out.”

Tony draws Pete to his chest as tremors begin working through the kid’s body. “I just get so _scared_ all the time, even though I know I’m safe.”

“It’s okay,” Tony says because he doesn’t have anything else to say, and because he believes it to be the truth.

Sighing, Peter shuts his eyes. “You guys are the best, so obviously I’ll be okay.”

-

All things considered, Peter thinks he’s healing pretty well. He has nightmares, but he’s always had those. The only difference is that now it’s about being tortured whereas it used to be about dying, or being crushed by a building, or failing to save his uncle as he bled out beneath Peter’s hands. So all in all, this trauma isn’t so much worse than all his other traumas.

It doesn’t make it easier though.

Being used to suffering doesn’t make it less painful. There’s still the panic that wakes him, when he forgets where he is until Tony or May or Pepper comes to calm him down. Tonight it’s Tony, who sits on his bed and runs fingers through his hair.

“I missed your head massages so bad,” Peter admits. “They kept tugging my hair, and I just missed you.”

“I’m so sorry, Pete.” He brushes Peter’s scalp and scratches gently before slowly untangling his hand from Peter’s hair. “You deserve so much better. You just can’t catch a break, can you?”

“I s’pose not.” He sighs as Tony’s hand returns, and snuggles his head onto Tony’s lap. There are so many emotions on Peter’s face, and Tony can barely place half of them. The thing about Peter is that he’s always had a habit of giving too much of himself away. “I love you, you know? I know I don’t say it, but I do.”

Tony’s receiving the entirety of Peter’s heart. He can feel it in Pete’s voice, and has no idea what to do with the fondness that swells inside his chest, expanding his heart and lungs until there’s no more room for them to grow. “Yeah, Pete. I love you too.”

When Peter’s breathing returns to normal, Tony bends down and kisses his forehead, missing the way his eyes flutter open for a second. A gentle smile breaks through the lines of Tony’s face, and he’s been tired of living before, but now he’s so glad to be alive.

“You don’t have to go,” Peter whispers as Tony gets up to leave. “Stay.”

So Tony does.


End file.
